


Harvest Moon

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x09 "First Blood", Episode Related, M/M, Sibling Incest, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Sam doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. His entire body is itchy, his skin practically burning, but he knows it’s not the coverall he’s wearing. It’s got nothing to do with a reaction to soap or anything else that’s actually tangible.





	Harvest Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SPN Kink Bingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com/) square "Touch-Starvation".

Sam doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. His entire body is itchy, his skin practically burning, but he knows it’s not the coverall he’s wearing. It’s got nothing to do with a reaction to soap or anything else that’s actually tangible.

He’s felt it for a while and it’s steadily growing stronger. He’s stopped scratching.

They’re running through the woods, no time to stop and think, and Sam is doing his best to keep up with his brother jogging in front of him. It takes every single scrap of self-discipline he possesses not to halt Dean in his tracks and pull him to the side, maybe behind a tree, and throw his arms around him, squeeze the life out of him, maybe strip him down and put his hands all over his body.

They don’t even have time for a hug, for crying out loud. But if that was all Sam wanted, he could probably make it work.

Six weeks. Six goddamn lonely weeks, no visitors except for the douchebag who put them in that hellhole in the first place.

“Dean!” he calls over the rush of the wind and his own strained breaths, “Dean, wait!”

Dean groans but slows his strides. “Sam, we can’t stop, not yet.”

Sam shakes his head, “Not gonna stop,” and as he whisks past his brother he grabs Dean’s hand, tugging him along.

Dean makes an affronted noise, “I can’t run like this, Sam, let go of me,” but he doesn’t pull his hand away and that’s enough for Sam. It isn’t much but it’s better than nothing, some kind of skin contact at least if nothing else.

They find a cabin by nightfall and through sheer dumb luck it has everything they need to MacGyver up some boobytraps. There’s also a bed without a mattress, an old wooden chair, a table, and some lanterns that Sam lights.

He lets Dean work in silence, doesn’t demand anything just yet because he can see the unsteady line of Dean’s shoulders and they’re both holding it together the best they can. It’s entirely silent, not even the rustling of small forest animals in the bushes or crickets in the grass. It’s not a good sign. Sam shifts restlessly from one foot to another.

Dean is standing outside, staring into the blackness of the woods as if he could see something there if he just looked long enough, let his eyes adjust to the absence of light. But he isn’t a cat and they will just have to wait. 

“Come here for a second,” Sam says, near a whisper but it still makes Dean jump in the silence. 

He turns around, asks, “What is it?” while he’s already walking toward Sam, joining him back in the cabin.

Sam stumbles forward then, doesn’t care much for elegance, and wraps his arms around his brother’s waist, holding him more tightly than is probably comfortable. Breathes, “Just–just come here.”

Dean makes a small sound of surprise, his palm cupping the back of Sam’s neck on instinct, and he exhales into Sam’s hair. “Okay,” he says, “Okay.”

They stand like that, Sam nuzzling the line of Dean’s throat while Dean’s breath hitches, and breathe each other in. Dean smells like antiseptic from the morgue, metal, and rain. They’re both dirty and sweaty but Sam thinks he’s never felt more pure somehow, here in the middle of nowhere, just him and Dean against an entire squad that’s after them but safe and sound for the time being.

Well, as safe and sound as it’s going to get while being public enemy number one and with Billy’s deal a Damocles sword above their heads. One Winchester in exchange for freedom.

Sam’s going to make sure it’s him. And that’s why he needs this and why he thinks Dean does, too. They’re not going to talk about it but this they can do.

Dean slides his fingers into Sam’s hair, tangles them gently in the strands. Sam gives an involuntary moan and pulls back, opens the zipper to his coverall.

“Sammy, we don’t have time for that,” Dean says quietly, regret in his voice, “What are you–”

“No, I know, I just need–“ He rolls the stiff fabric down to his hips, instantly feeling like he can breathe a little easier, and then he reaches for Dean’s lapels and does the same, savoring Dean’s little gasp when the zipper reaches his navel.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, irrationally, as he pulls Dean back in, warmth curling in his belly when his brother goes willingly and Sam can finally, _finally,_ stroke his hands over Dean’s naked shoulders, his bare arms, feeling the shiver underneath his palms.

Dean shakes his head, reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Sam’s ear. He runs his thumb over Sam’s cheekbone, his pinky finger hooked underneath Sam’s jaw. “No, baby, I am, I–I shouldn’t have made the deal, I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s okay,” Sam returns and he means it, “We’ve got a few hours. We’ll figure something out.”


End file.
